


Mac Goes to Prison

by sewerkingcharlie



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Gang Behavior (It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia), Canon-Typical Violence, Daddy Issues, Drug Abuse, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Sex, Lawyer Charlie Content, M/M, Mutual Pining, Prison Typical Language, Prison setting, Slurs, Strong Language, references to murder, schemes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:53:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26504704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sewerkingcharlie/pseuds/sewerkingcharlie
Summary: When Mac gets sentenced 20 years of prison time for voluntary manslaughter, he’s faced with a looming and inescapable thought; that he’s turning into Luther. But an equally daunting thought flowers into fruition whilst inside; Mac is really, really shit at living without Dennis... and Dennis is really, really shit at living without Mac.
Relationships: Mac McDonald/Dennis Reynolds
Comments: 8
Kudos: 24





	Mac Goes to Prison

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be lots of the prison typical attitudes towards things such as sexuality, gender and masculinity. Therefore, slurs and opinions of secondary characters within the prison could be triggering and/or upsetting, so this is a message to preface this. This wasn’t easy to explain in the tags alone, so I’ve added this note as a means to explain properly ♥︎

The first words to go through Mac’s semi-lucid brain as he sat down on his cell bed were _‘it’s not fair’._ He stared mindlessly at the wall opposite him, not fully registering the lewd pictures cut out from a porno magazine and stuck to the brick with toothpaste, wracking his brains with a feeling of frustration he hadn’t yet been party to at such a level.

_What kind of liberal bullshit is this? So what, I killed a kid. But if anything, it was self defense! Those kids stole our bikes, and our identities. Actually, that was a hate crime! Those kids are the ones that should’ve been arrested. We were defending ourselves. Why the fuck isn’t Charlie in prison? Some douchebag judge. ‘Based on Mr Kelly’s limited capabilities’, bitch what does that even mean?_

“Hey,” a man’s voice snapped Mac from his internal monologue, his eyes bugging and alert at the unexpected, gruff voice. “What’s your problem, man? All spaced out ‘n shit.”

Mac looked over the man talking to him. Small set and muscular, limp and long dark hair, tattoos covering every inch of skin that Mac could see. His neck grew higher, and his shoulder squared, in a subconscious effort to assert a level of masculinity.

“Nothing’s my problem,” He said in a neutral voice, and thinks of what to say next, before realising that he had absolutely no idea how prison etiquette really worked.

He didn’t need to think long, because the man before him spoke again.

“Name’s Slim,” he said, and sat in the bottom bunk, directly opposite Mac’s. He leaned forwards, resting on his knees, eyeing Mac up. _Probably an ocular pat down. At least he’s sensible._

“Mac,” Mac responded, watching Slim hold out a hand hold out a casual, greeting hand with a wary eye. Slowly, he took hold of it, met with an alarmingly firm handshake from such a small man.

“First time here?”

“Yeah,” Mac nodded, trying to assess his risk level, before electing not to bother. _Don’t have time to risk assess everyone I come across. Just assume they’re a threat, and prepare for the worst._

“What you in for?”

“Killed a kid,” Mac shrugged.

_Can’t believe Charlie got off with community service. I mean, sure, he didn’t actually beat up the kid who died, but he was an accessory to it, at least!_

“Jeez, that’s fucked,” Slim raised both of his eyebrows, seemingly impressed, contradicting his words. “You don’t give a shit, huh?”

“Well, I didn’t mean to kill him, exactly,” Mac responded, and could safely say he’d never been in such an unfamiliar scenario before in his life. And that’s saying something, because he was in a gay BDSM chamber with Frank, who put bloody nose rags in the kinky buffet chicken wings. “Me and my buddy, we just beat them up, and like, went from there, I guess.”

Slim didn’t respond much to that.

“How long you in?”

“20 years without parole,” Mac sighed, blankly. “Sorry— are you like, my roommate or some shit?” It felt sour to say.

“I’m your cell mate. This is my bed. Don’t touch my shit,” Slim said, practically recited. “Ain’t no roommates here. This ain’t a cushty room in a pretty little house somewhere.”

“Right, sure,” Mac nodded. He sniffed, and looked around, trying to take in his surroundings. Evidently, the topless photos on the wall opposite were Slim’s. Mac wondered if he could put up photos of the Dennis. And the rest of the gang. Obviously.

_It’s been like, nearly two whole years since that kid died, anyway. It’s not fair that I’m getting locked up all this time later. And 20 years? That’s so long! I’m gonna be like my dad when I get out of here—_

_Oh._

_I’m just like my dad._

“You got family to miss?” Slim asked, kicking his legs up onto his bed. It was an identical bed to Mac’s; metal, thin mattress, rough textured blanket.

“I guess,” Mac nodded. “I mean, my mom doesn’t see me much, and my dad’s in prison, but I’ve got like, these frien—”

“Hold up, your pop’s in prison? What’s he in for?”

“Oh, my dad’s a meth dealer,” Mac said, and cursed himself for the ingrained sound of pride in those words. “He’s killed a bunch of people in prison too, I think.”

Slim laughed, casually. “Bet he’s proud of you.”

Mac frowned.

“Nah, I don’t think so.” He wrung his hands together, staring blankly ahead at the naked women on Slim’s wall.

Slim didn’t say much for a moment, noticing Mac’s gaze. He chuckled.

“They’re hot as fuck, right?” He said, looking at the pictures himself. “Struck a deal with the guards to let me have them up. Massive tits, man. Treat for the eyes.”

Mac hummed in acknowledgement, absently.

_Me and Dennis have been getting along loads more better. Now I’m not gonna live with him til I’m in my 60s. He’s probably out looking for a new roommate right now, to replace me. Bet he’s getting rid of all my Jesus stuff too. God damnit._

_Dennis is such an asshole. I bet he won’t even visit._

_... Fuck._

_I wanna go home._

“I’ll get you one of these magazines for $10 of ramen from commissary,” Slim said, keeping his voice a little quieter. “That’s my price, no lower.”

Mac shook his head. “No, you’re alright.”

Slim snorted a laugh. “You a fag or something?”

Mac should’ve known it was going to be like this in prison. He should’ve prepared for hearing the word ‘fag’ more than the word ‘hello’.

He used a split second to consider the answer to that question, and settled on going against everything he held close. _Well, this proves it. Identity? Stolen._

“No,” he shook his head. “How fuckin’ dare you.”

“Good, ‘cause I ain’t sharing a cell with no queer,” Slim said. “They don’t get far in a place like this.”

Mac nodded. _I really wanna fucking go home. Why hasn’t Frank bailed me out? Can’t Dennis convince him? Charlie, at least?_

_Is this God’s punishment for me being gay?_

_I need to cut the sleeves off this damn prison tee._

Slim swung his legs over the bed and stood up. “You respect me, I respect you. Don’t fuck with me, I won’t fuck with you. Don’t be a snitch, or you’ll get shanked. Get it?”

“Loud and clear,” Mac said, and watched as Slim left the cell, which was unlocked, at the moment. He looked down at his hands, that formed into a clasping prayer.

_What’s your plan for me, Lord? Is this my retribution, or is this a test?_

_Because if it’s a test, it sucks. I hate it here._

_I’m asking for forgiveness. I’m sorry._

***

“Get me another beer, dude.”

Dennis was sat at the bar with Charlie, after closing hours. Frank had scarpered and gone home after Dennis’ fit of rage at his lack of willingness to post bail. Dee didn’t particularly care for sitting and listening to him whinge or rant or complain, so she’d gone to hang out with Artemis, perhaps the last person besides the gang who would put up with Dee’s company. Charlie, however, was upset as well. So he stayed with Dennis, and stepped into the role of ‘Booze Provider‘, handing him a fresh bottle of beer every time he finishes the afore one.

He reached into the cooler and pulled a beer out, twisting the cap and sliding it across the bar to Dennis.

“Thanks,” said Dennis in a painfully neutral voice, swinging back an almost concerning gulp of the drink.

“You gotta go steady, man,” Charlie commented quietly. “Alcohol like, gets you way more drunk than it used to now.”

“Perfect,” Dennis scoffed darkly, drinking at least half of the bottle in one long drink, not pausing for breath.

Charlie didn’t comment on that. There wasn’t much to say. They fell into an uncomfortably long silence, until Dennis broke it.

“I— I mean, fuck this! Fuck this whole fucking situation!” He snapped out of nowhere, gesticulating with the neck of the bottle held precariously in his fingers. “20 god damn years, Christ, that takes the piss.”

“Priors,” Charlie reminded Dennis quietly.

“Fuck his priors!” Dennis spat. “Selfish asshole, leaving me for a whole fucking 20 years...”

“Bro, he’s in prison. ‘S not like he wants to be there,” Charlie said, but that didn’t seem to help, as Dennis threw the half empty beer bottle at the wall, smashing into shards and erupting beer, splattering onto the sticky laminate floor.

“I know he’s in prison Charlie. Thanks so much for reminding me!” Dennis quipped sarcastically, cruelly. Charlie rolled his eyes, and ignored the tone, watching as Dennis’ face fell into a quiet, bitter, contemplative expression. “S’pose I can enjoy the peace,” he said half-heartedly. “No more dildo bike at 3 in the god damn morning, no more greasy food smell when he’s stress eating burritos, no more obsessive conversations about body mass. Hell, I should be celebrating that I finally get to have a place to myself.”

”You’re just pissed because you’re gonna be lonely,” Charlie commented quietly. “Don’t bullshit yourself, bro—”

”Move in,” Dennis interrupted, looking at Charlie with a borderline demanding expression.

”No way, man, I got a sweet deal,” Charlie raised an eyebrow, getting two shot glasses from the shelves beneath the bar and setting them on the table. “I love my place. ‘M not gonna sacrifice that because you can’t live on your own.”

”You’re such a good friend,” Dennis snapped sarcastically. “And for the record, I can live perfectly fine on my own!”

”How would you know?” Charlie turned round to grab a bottle of whiskey, filling the two shot glasses. Dennis reached out for one, but Charlie smacked his hand away, necking them one after the other. “Y— You’ve like... never lived on your own, dude.” He speaks through a wince at the abrupt and strong whiskey hitting the back of his throat.

”Asshole...” Dennis muttered, grabbing one of the empty shot glasses Charlie had used and the bottle of whiskey, filling his own up and slamming it back. He swallowed it, clenching his fist, and washed it down with another swig of beer. He was quiet for a moment, finished the bottle and slammed it on the table.

”... You oka—”

”He’s gonna forget about me,” he scoffed darkly, staring almost aggressively at the beer bottle on the table. “And you. He’ll probably get some sweet setup in prison and deal or some shit, like Luther. And when he gets out, he’s gonna be all— all old and gross and institutionalised. ‘S not like he’d move back in.”

”You’re literally thinking about what it’s gonna be like in 20 years,” Charlie commented. “That’s dumb as hell.”

”You’re dumb as hell.”

”Am not,” Charlie quipped. “I’m not the one sitting and whining like a baby because my friend isn’t gonna be the same in 20 years time.”

”Shut up.”

”It’s just stupid, dude. Jus’ focus on being drunk and don’t even like, sweat it—”

”I _demand_ that you shut up!” Dennis whipped his head up to glare at Charlie. Charlie didn’t flinch. Met his gaze neutrally, and waited for the next onslaught of insults, already preparing comebacks.

Dennis didn’t continue, however. Charlie watched as his lips twitched and his jaw clenched, watched as that slight twitching reached his eyes, and his eyebrows. Watched as the brows went from a scowl to a shaky upturned expression and watched as his head snapped to the side, stubbornly looking away.

Charlie didn’t know what to do. Dennis stood up suddenly, sniffing harshly, walking to the back office.

”Dennis,” Charlie tried with a sigh, stumbling around the end of the bar to follow him. “Bro, come on.”

Dennis disappeared into the back office, ignoring him completely. Charlie walked on dizzy legs towards the back office, quickening his pace as he heard erratic clattering.

He appeared in the doorway and watched as Dennis rifled frustratedly through the drawers, grunting in irritation as he threw utensils and scribbled drawings and boxes of cigarettes across the room.

”Where the fuck do you keep the glue? Or— Or that lighter fluid?” Dennis snapped, looking up at Charlie. His eyes were dry now, expression back to a very Dennis-like anger. His cheeks were a little blotchy, as Dennis’ skin was prone to becoming with heightened emotions or intoxication or, in this case, both; the only indication, besides the red, flushed tip of his nose, that was a little runny. “I know you have some in this God damn office, where the fuck is it?”

”Keep it in the basement now, with all the gas and secret booze and stuff,” Charlie said, a frown dusting his features. 

“It’s not a secret if everybody knows about it, Charlie,” Dennis sighed dramatically, abandoning the cluttered back office and pushing past Charlie in the doorway.

Charlie followed Dennis again, down to the basement, struggling to keep up with his striding, fast paces. He turned the light on as they reached the bottom of the stairs, watching Dennis lurch for the gasoline containers, grabbing one. “That’s booze.”

Dennis rolled his eyes, and picked up a different one. 

“Bingo,” Charlie nodded, walking over and sitting on the concrete floor, Dennis doing the same.

There was no denying how shit the situation was. Charlie was suffering too, just in less vocal, obvious ways than Dennis. The likelihood was, that Charlie would go home that night and eat three times the normal amount of cat food, huff three times the normal amount of glue and pass out before even getting to the triple beer. He watched Dennis unscrew the gasoline container and hold it to his nose, harshly inhaling the fumes and blinking strongly.

”Whew,” He breathed vocally, putting the container on the floor between them, that was stained with rat blood and green paint. Dennis was too out of it to give a shit. “ _Christ,_ I forgot how hard this shit hits.”

”Yeah, because you’re an inhalant lightweight, so cool it,” Charlie pointed out, taking the container and taking a deep breath, nose to the nozzle. He closed his eyes, familiar dizziness spotting the inside of his lids. He put it down, and huffs a breath out.

Dennis was staring at the staircase blankly, admittedly less stressed — visibly, at least.

”We can visit him though, right?”

”Visits are weekly,” Dennis replied. “If he’s on good behaviour. And like...” he trailed off, gesturing vaguely with his hands. “It’s Mac.”

Charlie nodded, quietly grounded and humbled by the utterance of Mac’s name, and not in a good way. It weighed down on his chest, sinking into the concrete floor.

”... He’s kind of a pussy, though,” He said after a hesitation. “Could go either way, y’know? He’s gonna be spineless, or bossy and shit.”

”That's not very comforting.”

”It’s not, is it?” Charlie mumbled, instinctively reaching for the gas, but Dennis took it from his hands and put it back down. It felt familiar.

They both fall into silence. It’s only broken by the distant whir of the incinerator and a rat scurrying on the other side of the room.

Everything felt overwhelmingly sad.

Dennis closed his eyes, and over the course of about five minutes, had slowly brung his knees to his chest, subtly hugging himself. Charlie swallowed a lump in his throat.

”I’ll try and get Frank to bail him out,” he said into the quiet.

Dennis nodded, silently.

”... I miss him,” Charlie added after another moment, so emotional, he was numb.

”Me too,” Dennis whispered.

It was quiet.

It wasn’t supposed to be quiet. Nothing was ever quiet with Mac there. But that night, it was so quiet, it was deafening.

***

Mac sat in his bed in the dark. The cell was locked and Slim was sleeping.

The prison was noisy, but in a distant way that made Mac’s brain feel disconnected and quiet.

It wasn’t supposed to be quiet. But that night, it was so quiet, it was deafening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a pretty short chapter but it’s more introductory. the other chapters will likely be longer! xoxo


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